When I speak I create Even without a magic wand When I think I create And my environment Thinks like I think Magic is an illusion But power is real And it is not in your hands But in your mouth One Word changed my life Starting with my mind Which is a powerful biological machine That can either instruct Or self-destruct If overloaded with wrong instructions. A man utters Out of the abundance of the heart And as he imagines so is he Man is a thought And thoughts are spirits They work like cells Unobserved yet effective Possess your mind And inculcate your heart If you don’t They will When they entertain your mind with their demonic fantasies…
Words are powerful. Silence is golden, and speaking is silver.
Now here we are, what have we become? Our world is not like it use to be... It's Very messy now, and people not caring. What happen here? Our world needs our help! What happen to this Culture? We were suppose to be the dreamers And the creators, but wait!! It's not too late. If* we start now, we could still save our world and maybe the Next generation can do better; *learn from our mistakes. Everyone: We're all in this together!!
My throat blows out fire. You can't stop this sun burning in my lungs. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. A dragon lurking through the shadows. Enter the unknown and i will funnel magma into your cold lifeless body. OH NO! my little fireflies! they want to capture you in a bottle! But the blood of the dragon in you melts the glass that held you. We have become the mythical creatures they thought only existed in their imagination. And now the power we've withheld for so long has got them running. Running into the silent caves, waiting to be saved. They fear what they not know. I will not apologize for spreading my wildfire and you shouldn't either.
I wonder if the Greats Ever knew each other in their time I know the Painters knew one another I imagine the conversations they had What gossip crept through the grapevine? "Did you know that Van Gogh fellow cut off his ear for his mistress?" "What a treacherous man" "Poor soul" "And that Monet's pictures always look so fuzzy" "What an odd concept, indeed." Would Dickinson and Poe be acquaintances or great friends? Or Mr. Robert Frost and the great John Keats Would e.e cummings be the laughing stock of the crowd or the hipster everyone else secretly admires? Painters and Poets, creators alike Would the two groups clash or join in joyful merrymaking? Creators not destroyers Artists and Masters of their work Both disturbed And slightly insane I think They would have gotten along great.